IV

I had been certain the day before that I should be the first to arrive. But it
was not a question of being the first to arrive. Not only were they not
there, but I had difficulty in finding our room. The table was not laid
even. What did it mean? After a good many questions I elicited from the
waiters that the dinner had been ordered not for five, but for six o’clock.
This was confirmed at the buffet too. I felt really ashamed to go on
questioning them. It was only twenty-five minutes past five. If they
changed the dinner hour they ought at least to have let me knowthat is
what the post is for, and not to have put me in an absurd position in my
own eyes and ... and even before the waiters. I sat down; the servant
began laying the table; I felt even more humiliated when he was present.
Towards six o’clock they brought in candles, though there were lamps
burning in the room. It had not occurred to the waiter, however, to bring
them in at once when I arrived. In the next room two gloomy, angry-
looking persons were eating their dinners in silence at two different
tables. There was a great deal of noise, even shouting, in a room further
away; one could hear the laughter of a crowd of people, and nasty little
shrieks in French: there were ladies at the dinner. It was sickening, in fact.
I rarely passed more unpleasant moments, so much so that when they did
arrive all together punctually at six I was overjoyed to see them, as though
they were my deliverers, and even forgot that it was incumbent upon me
to show resentment.

Zverkov walked in at the head of them; evidently he was the leading
spirit. He and all of them were laughing; but, seeing me, Zverkov drew
himself up a little, walked up to me deliberately with a slight, rather jaunty
bend from the waist. He shook hands with me in a friendly, but not over-
friendly, fashion, with a sort of circumspect courtesy like that of a General,
as though in giving me his hand he were warding off something. I had
imagined, on the contrary, that on coming in he would at once break into
his habitual thin, shrill laugh and fall to making his insipid jokes and
witticisms. I had been preparing for them ever since the previous day, but I
had not expected such condescension, such high-official courtesy. So,
then, he felt himself ineffably superior to me in every respect! If he only
meant to insult me by that high-official tone, it would not matter, I
thoughtI could pay him back for it one way or another. But what if, in
reality, without the least desire to be offensive, that sheepshead had a
notion in earnest that he was superior to me and could only look at me in a
patronising way? The very supposition made me gasp.

“I was surprised to hear of your desire to join us,” he began, lisping and
drawling, which was something new. “You and I seem to have seen nothing of one
another. You fight shy of us. You shouldn’t. We are not such terrible
people as you think. Well, anyway, I am glad to renew our acquaintance.”

And he turned carelessly to put down his hat on the window.

“Have you been waiting long?” Trudolyubov inquired.

“I arrived at five o’clock as you told me yesterday,” I answered aloud,
with an irritability that threatened an explosion.

“Didn’t you let him know that we had changed the hour?” said
Trudolyubov to Simonov.

“No, I didn’t. I forgot,” the latter replied, with no sign of regret,
and without even apologising to me he went off to order the HORS D’OEUVRE.

“So you’ve been here a whole hour? Oh, poor fellow!” Zverkov cried
ironically, for to his notions this was bound to be extremely funny. That
rascal Ferfitchkin followed with his nasty little snigger like a puppy yapping.
My position struck him, too, as exquisitely ludicrous and embarrassing.

“It isn’t funny at all!” I cried to Ferfitchkin, more and more irritated.
“It wasn’t my fault, but other people’s. They neglected to let me know. It
was ... it was ... it was simply absurd.”

“It’s not only absurd, but something else as well,” muttered Trudolyubov,
naively taking my part. “You are not hard enough upon it. It was
simply rudenessunintentional, of course. And how could Simonov ... h’m!”

“If a trick like that had been played on me,” observed Ferfitchkin, “I
should ...”

“But you should have ordered something for yourself,” Zverkov interrupted,
“or simply asked for dinner without waiting for us.”

“You will allow that I might have done that without your permission,"
I rapped out. “If I waited, it was ...”

“Let us sit down, gentlemen,” cried Simonov, coming in. “Everything
is ready; I can answer for the champagne; it is capitally frozen .... You
see, I did not know your address, where was I to look for you?” he
suddenly turned to me, but again he seemed to avoid looking at me.
Evidently he had something against me. It must have been what
happened yesterday.

All sat down; I did the same. It was a round table. Trudolyubov was on
my left, Simonov on my right, Zverkov was sitting opposite, Ferfitchkin
next to him, between him and Trudolyubov.

“Tell me, are you ... in a government office?” Zverkov went on
attending to me. Seeing that I was embarrassed he seriously thought that
he ought to be friendly to me, and, so to speak, cheer me up.

“Does he want me to throw a bottle at his head?” I thought, in a fury.
In my novel surroundings I was unnaturally ready to be irritated.

“In the N-xxxxxxxxxxxxx office,” I answered jerkily, with my eyes on my plate.

“And ha-ave you a go-od berth? I say, what ma-a-de you leave your
original job?”

“What ma-a-de me was that I wanted to leave my original job,” I
drawled more than he, hardly able to control myself. Ferfitchkin went off
into a guffaw. Simonov looked at me ironically. Trudolyubov left off
eating and began looking at me with curiosity.

Zverkov winced, but he tried not to notice it.

“And the remuneration?”

“What remuneration?”

“I mean, your sa-a-lary?”

“Why are you cross-examining me?” However, I told him at once what
my salary was. I turned horribly red.

“It is not very handsome,” Zverkov observed majestically.

“Yes, you can’t afford to dine at cafes on that,” Ferfitchkin
added insolently.

“To my thinking it’s very poor,” Trudolyubov observed gravely.

“And how thin you have grown! How you have changed!” added
Zverkov, with a shade of venom in his voice, scanning me and my attire
with a sort of insolent compassion.

“Oh, spare his blushes,” cried Ferfitchkin, sniggering.

“My dear sir, allow me to tell you I am not blushing,” I broke out at
last; “do you hear? I am dining here, at this cafe, at my own expense, not
at other people’snote that, Mr. Ferfitchkin.”

“Wha-at? Isn’t every one here dining at his own expense? You would
seem to be ...” Ferfitchkin flew out at me, turning as red as a lobster,
and looking me in the face with fury.
“Tha-at,” I answered, feeling I had gone too far, “and I imagine it
would be better to talk of something more intelligent.”

“You intend to show off your intelligence, I suppose?”

“Don’t disturb yourself, that would be quite out of place here.”

“Why are you clacking away like that, my good sir, eh? Have you gone
out of your wits in your office?”

“Enough, gentlemen, enough!” Zverkov cried, authoritatively.

“How stupid it is!” muttered Simonov.

“It really is stupid. We have met here, a company of friends, for a
farewell dinner to a comrade and you carry on an altercation,” said
Trudolyubov, rudely addressing himself to me alone. “You invited yourself
to join us, so don’t disturb the general harmony.”

“Enough, enough!” cried Zverkov. “Give over, gentlemen, it’s out of
place. Better let me tell you how I nearly got married the day before
yesterday ....”

And then followed a burlesque narrative of how this gentleman had
almost been married two days before. There was not a word about the
marriage, however, but the story was adorned with generals, colonels and
kammer-junkers, while Zverkov almost took the lead among them. It was
greeted with approving laughter; Ferfitchkin positively squealed.

No one paid any attention to me, and I sat crushed and humiliated.

“Good Heavens, these are not the people for me!” I thought. “And
what a fool I have made of myself before them! I let Ferfitchkin go too far,
though. The brutes imagine they are doing me an honour in letting me
sit down with them. They don’t understand that it’s an honour to them
and not to me! I’ve grown thinner! My clothes! Oh, damn my trousers!
Zverkov noticed the yellow stain on the knee as soon as he came in ....
But what’s the use! I must get up at once, this very minute, take my hat
and simply go without a word ... with contempt! And tomorrow I can
send a challenge. The scoundrels! As though I cared about the seven
roubles. They may think .... Damn it! I don’t care about the seven
roubles. I’ll go this minute!”

Of course I remained. I drank sherry and Lafitte by the glassful in my
discomfiture. Being unaccustomed to it, I was quickly affected. My
annoyance increased as the wine went to my head. I longed all at once to
insult them all in a most flagrant manner and then go away. To seize the
moment and show what I could do, so that they would say, “He’s clever,
though he is absurd,” and ... and ... in fact, damn them all!

I scanned them all insolently with my drowsy eyes. But they seemed to
have forgotten me altogether. They were noisy, vociferous, cheerful.
Zverkov was talking all the time. I began listening. Zverkov was talking of
some exuberant lady whom he had at last led on to declaring her love (of
course, he was lying like a horse), and how he had been helped in this
affair by an intimate friend of his, a Prince Kolya, an officer in the
hussars, who had three thousand serfs.

“And yet this Kolya, who has three thousand serfs, has not put in an
appearance here tonight to see you off,” I cut in suddenly.

For one minute every one was silent. “You are drunk already."
Trudolyubov deigned to notice me at last, glancing contemptuously in my
direction. Zverkov, without a word, examined me as though I were an insect.
I dropped my eyes. Simonov made haste to fill up the glasses with champagne.

Trudolyubov raised his glass, as did everyone else but me.

“Your health and good luck on the journey!” he cried to Zverkov. “To
old times, to our future, hurrah!”

They all tossed off their glasses, and crowded round Zverkov to kiss
him. I did not move; my full glass stood untouched before me.

“I want to make a speech separately, on my own account ... and then
I’ll drink it, Mr. Trudolyubov.”

“Spiteful brute!” muttered Simonov. I drew myself up in my chair and
feverishly seized my glass, prepared for something extraordinary, though
I did not know myself precisely what I was going to say.

“SILENCE!” cried Ferfitchkin. “Now for a display of wit!”

Zverkov waited very gravely, knowing what was coming.

“Mr. Lieutenant Zverkov,” I began, “let me tell you that I hate
phrases, phrasemongers and men in corsets ... that’s the first point, and
there is a second one to follow it.”

There was a general stir.

“The second point is: I hate ribaldry and ribald talkers. Especially
ribald talkers! The third point: I love justice, truth and honesty.” I went
on almost mechanically, for I was beginning to shiver with horror myself
and had no idea how I came to be talking like this. “I love thought,
Monsieur Zverkov; I love true comradeship, on an equal footing and
not ... H’m ... I love ... But, however, why not? I will drink your
health, too, Mr. Zverkov. Seduce the Circassian girls, shoot the enemies
of the fatherland and ... and ... to your health, Monsieur Zverkov!”

Zverkov got up from his seat, bowed to me and said:

“I am very much obliged to you.” He was frightfully offended and
turned pale.

“Damn the fellow!” roared Trudolyubov, bringing his fist down on
the table.

“Well, he wants a punch in the face for that,” squealed Ferfitchkin.

“We ought to turn him out,” muttered Simonov.

“Not a word, gentlemen, not a movement!” cried Zverkov solemnly,
checking the general indignation. “I thank you all, but I can show him
for myself how much value I attach to his words.”

“Mr. Ferfitchkin, you will give me satisfaction tomorrow for your
words just now!” I said aloud, turning with dignity to Ferfitchkin.

“A duel, you mean? Certainly,” he answered. But probably I was
so ridiculous as I challenged him and it was so out of keeping with
my appearance that everyone including Ferfitchkin was prostrate with laughter.

“Yes, let him alone, of course! He is quite drunk,” Trudolyubov said
with disgust.

“Now is the time to throw a bottle at their heads,” I thought to myself.
I picked up the bottle ... and filled my glass .... “No, I’d better sit
on to the end,” I went on thinking; “you would be pleased, my friends, if I
went away. Nothing will induce me to go. I’ll go on sitting here and
drinking to the end, on purpose, as a sign that I don’t think you of the
slightest consequence. I will go on sitting and drinking, because this is a
public-house and I paid my entrance money. I’ll sit here and drink, for I
look upon you as so many pawns, as inanimate pawns. I’ll sit here and
drink ... and sing if I want to, yes, sing, for I have the right to ... to
sing ... H’m!”

But I did not sing. I simply tried not to look at any of them. I assumed
most unconcerned attitudes and waited with impatience for them to
speak FIRST. But alas, they did not address me! And oh, how I wished, how
I wished at that moment to be reconciled to them! It struck eight, at last
nine. They moved from the table to the sofa. Zverkov stretched himself
on a lounge and put one foot on a round table. Wine was brought there.
He did, as a fact, order three bottles on his own account. I, of course, was
not invited to join them. They all sat round him on the sofa. They
listened to him, almost with reverence. It was evident that they were fond
of him. “What for? What for?” I wondered. From time to time they were
moved to drunken enthusiasm and kissed each other. They talked of the
Caucasus, of the nature of true passion, of snug berths in the service, of
the income of an hussar called Podharzhevsky, whom none of them knew
personally, and rejoiced in the largeness of it, of the extraordinary grace
and beauty of a Princess D., whom none of them had ever seen; then it
came to Shakespeare’s being immortal.

I smiled contemptuously and walked up and down the other side of the
room, opposite the sofa, from the table to the stove and back again. I tried
my very utmost to show them that I could do without them, and yet I
purposely made a noise with my boots, thumping with my heels. But it
was all in vain. They paid no attention. I had the patience to walk up and
down in front of them from eight o’clock till eleven, in the same place,
from the table to the stove and back again. “I walk up and down to please
myself and no one can prevent me.” The waiter who came into the room
stopped, from time to time, to look at me. I was somewhat giddy from
turning round so often; at moments it seemed to me that I was in
delirium. During those three hours I was three times soaked with sweat
and dry again. At times, with an intense, acute pang I was stabbed to the
heart by the thought that ten years, twenty years, forty years would pass,
and that even in forty years I would remember with loathing and humiliation
those filthiest, most ludicrous, and most awful moments of my life.
No one could have gone out of his way to degrade himself more shamelessly,
and I fully realised it, fully, and yet I went on pacing up and down
from the table to the stove. “Oh, if you only knew what thoughts and
feelings I am capable of, how cultured I am!” I thought at moments,
mentally addressing the sofa on which my enemies were sitting. But my
enemies behaved as though I were not in the room. Onceonly once
they turned towards me, just when Zverkov was talking about Shakespeare,
and I suddenly gave a contemptuous laugh. I laughed in such an
affected and disgusting way that they all at once broke off their conversation,
and silently and gravely for two minutes watched me walking up and
down from the table to the stove, TAKING NO NOTICE OF THEM. But nothing
came of it: they said nothing, and two minutes later they ceased to notice
me again. It struck eleven.

“Friends,” cried Zverkov getting up from the sofa, “let us all be off
now, THERE!”

“Of course, of course,” the others assented. I turned sharply to
Zverkov. I was so harassed, so exhausted, that I would have cut my throat
to put an end to it. I was in a fever; my hair, soaked with perspiration,
stuck to my forehead and temples.

“Zverkov, I beg your pardon,” I said abruptly and resolutely.
“Ferfitchkin, yours too, and everyone’s, everyone’s: I have insulted you all!”

“Aha! A duel is not in your line, old man,” Ferfitchkin
hissed venomously.

It sent a sharp pang to my heart.

“No, it’s not the duel I am afraid of, Ferfitchkin! I am ready to fight
you tomorrow, after we are reconciled. I insist upon it, in fact, and you
cannot refuse. I want to show you that I am not afraid of a duel. You shall
fire first and I shall fire into the air.”

“He is comforting himself,” said Simonov.

“He’s simply raving,” said Trudolyubov.

“But let us pass. Why are you barring our way? What do you want?"
Zverkov answered disdainfully.
They were all flushed, their eyes were bright: they had been
drinking heavily.

“I ask for your friendship, Zverkov; I insulted you, but ...”

“Insulted? YOU insulted ME? Understand, sir, that you never, under any
circumstances, could possibly insult ME.”

I stood as though spat upon. The party went noisily out of the room.
Trudolyubov struck up some stupid song. Simonov remained behind for
a moment to tip the waiters. I suddenly went up to him.

“Simonov! give me six roubles!” I said, with desperate resolution.

He looked at me in extreme amazement, with vacant eyes. He, too,
was drunk.

“You don’t mean you are coming with us?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve no money,” he snapped out, and with a scornful laugh he went
out of the room.

I clutched at his overcoat. It was a nightmare.

“Simonov, I saw you had money. Why do you refuse me? Am I a
scoundrel? Beware of refusing me: if you knew, if you knew why I am
asking! My whole future, my whole plans depend upon it!”

Simonov pulled out the money and almost flung it at me.

“Take it, if you have no sense of shame!” he pronounced pitilessly, and
ran to overtake them.

I was left for a moment alone. Disorder, the remains of dinner, a
broken wine-glass on the floor, spilt wine, cigarette ends, fumes of drink
and delirium in my brain, an agonising misery in my heart and finally
the waiter, who had seen and heard all and was looking inquisitively into
my face.

“I am going there!” I cried. “Either they shall all go down on their
knees to beg for my friendship, or I will give Zverkov a slap in the face!”